Shattered Illusion
by Dagorhir
Summary: Dying was rarely pleasant. Coming back from the dead and finding himself seemingly 50 years in the past was a fate far worse. Capturing the Head Boy's attention? Hadrian hated his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note**

Greetings, all ye who read this. Not that I expect many of you do, to be frank. I'll jump to the matter at hand. While I do have _two _other stories up here, this little idea came to mind the other day...and it has yet to abate. So, being driven by some insane urge, I sat down and I wrote _this_. So a few notes about _this_.

I've read countless 'Boy-Who-Lives travels into past, meets Tom Riddle, and develop feelings (platonic or otherwise).' While I have nothing against these stories, and, to be honest, there are many I _like _a great deal, there has always been _one _little problem that irked me. This little issue is named 'Time Paradox.' It is a rather obvious piece of news that a Time Traveler _cannot _interact, to a large degree, with the past due to the very fact that _their very being there _contradicts the truth of reality. By being there, they are existing in two places at once. And never have I seen a consequence to this.

It's, like, 'well, I won't _kill _Riddle...so there's nothing that will happen...'

Utterly stupid, that. Truly. So then I cam up with _this_.

It is my hope that everyone likes my thoughts.

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: T

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He had never said he was overly bright.

Reckless, actually. Hadrian did, and said, things without much thought to his actions. More often than not, this proved to act in his favor. Sometimes, though, _sometimes _this would lead to consequences he couldn't even predict. Not that he would admit that, he mused to himself as he dunked under a reaching arm, but it happened regardless. His current predicament was such an example. He was still trying to figure out why a group of dementors were in Little Whinging. And he was still trying to figure out how his _cousin _could outrun one of them.

The entire situation baffled him.

"Dudley, not _that way!" _Despite his cousin's speed, his stupidity would seemingly be his undoing. Hadrian chucked the rock he was holding at the dementor closing in on him, and sprinted past, shivering from cold, to his cousin who was screaming, shrilly, at the dementor grasping his chin. _Now, why in the world would a dementor want to kiss that sad excuse for a living being?_

He caught his cousin around the arm, yanking him down and away. The blubbery male wailed, stumbling as Hadrian pulled him deeper into the park. A fat hand clenched his, thick fingers biting into pale flesh, and the sensation of cold lessened for a moment before pursuing them. Hadrian cursed, and, fumbling for his wand, felt a cold hand latch onto his shoulder. Whipped around, wand coming up, an equally cold hand circled his wrist. Dudley kept running, the traitor.

Grey. Grey swayed around him, like silken robes of water brushing his skin. The hand wrapped around his wrist squeezed, tightening until forced to release the warm and worn wooden wand from its grasp. Shivering, the cold washing through his body, Hadrian found himself face-to-mask with a dementor. He blinked, body heavy, in sharp confusion at the pale white barrier guarding the dementor's mouth. It took an additional minute for him to realize the _other _dementors, clad in their traditional _black _robes, were circling them. Not closing in, mouths agape to steal his soul. _Circling._

_What the hell? _Hadrian tugged at his wrist, hoping, but the cold, skeletal fingers tightened their grip. The raven-haired boy winced, and lashed out with his other hand, yelping when a black-clothed hand caught his from behind. The icy sensation that stalked these shadowy creatures increased. He shuddered at the notion that one was pressed against his back, aiding the unusually dressed grey one in its pursuits, and that he hadn't sensed its movements. Or heard it.

The rattling breathing was absent. The cold was all that remained.

Dementors swept a circle around them, silent. Shadows obscured the pale milkiness of their faces, and the clouds slowly rolled across the sky. The moon, once hidden, slowly crept out of hiding in its glorious, brilliant crimson hue. It hovered directly over them, at its zenith in the sky, and Hadrian, head craned back to stare at its unusual closeness in wonder, felt a cold finger travel up his neck to his chin. His skin crawled, rising at the soft touch, and vibrant green eyes swung back to the grey dementor with renewed wariness. He idly tried to gather _why _his gaze had shifted to the moon, to the luminous object looking upon them, and felt an itch to turn his gaze back to it.

A stray breeze danced across the park, leaves shattering in its embrace. The dementor closed in, silvery-grey robes encasing him as that bone-white mask filled his vision.

The others, still circling, seemed to be closing in. Loud cracks filled the air, lights racing across the ground. Hadrian felt the dementor, the grey one, pull him into its embrace as the blinding purity of countless patronusus closed in. A large one, its shape impossible to tell through the haze, came to an abrupt halt, without warning, as if it connected with some kind of barrier. Its head hit first, the rest of the body slamming, back first, when the wall did not falter. It shattered, dispelled, seconds after.

Shocked exclamations filled the air as the other patronusus raced across the ground. The black-clad dementors, while sweeping out of the range of those white spirits, did not flee. They evaded. They dodged. They circled. As Hadrian slumped, head lulling to rest against the grey-clad dementor's chest, he realized this went against everything he had ever thought possible. Dementors were supposed to _run _from a patronus. The light, the goodness, of the spell was supposed to negate anything these creatures could possibly throw. Over the chaos, a voice screamed.

At first he thought it could possibly be his mother's voice, the shock and trauma finally getting to him. Yet he saw no flashing green lights in his mind's eye. He did not hear the begging, sobbing voice of a woman he had only known for the first year of his life. This voice, it was aged. Male. And, as he slumped fully into the dementor's grasp, he realized it was familiar.

_"Hadrian!" _He blinked, and he saw red. Red hair. Worried eyes. A long, white beard. Pink hair.

People. Wearing robes. Wizards and witches, his mind supplied. And, at the front of them, spells firing with startling accuracy, was Albus Dumbledore. The aged Headmaster was calling out to him, voice carrying, and Hadrian mused that a spell must be carrying it. He didn't think it would be possible for it to carry otherwise, and, as he felt the damp grass under his back, a sense of confusion filled him.

_Why am I lying down? _The question circled as the silvery-grey dementor, flanked by those adorned in black, raked a cold, skeletal hand into his hair. It gently guided his head backwards, exposing his throat. Dulled green eyes blinked sleepily at the red moon, and, as a cold numbness seeped into his bones, he found that he couldn't will himself to move. His fingers, numb, were lax. They refused to move.

"Damn you, _Potter! _Fight them!" His eyes, half-mast, blinked. Snape?

A spell flew over the heads of the dementors, but they now refused to scatter as the glowing white forms of the patronusus slammed into them. Whatever barrier that had kept them back was gone, but Hadrian had a cold realization that it wasn't needed. The mask was freed from the silvery-grey dementor's face, and its features, so startlingly human, sans the pointed ears the silvery-grey hair falling on either side of its face, was iced. Like a person who died long ago, and their body frozen, preserved, in eternally iced waters. The eyes, the coldest of blues, stared into his without hesitation.

_I'm going to die._ It was a rather obvious outcome given he had done whatever he could to save a dimwitted _Dursley_. Not that his cousin was fully to blame. No, not at all. Hadrian had accepted the fact that, regardless of his circumstances, that bad luck followed him. Yet he could not get his mind around the bad karma of getting laid upon the grass like a virgin sacrifice to be devoured by a dementor. And, as it leaned in, cold breath fanning across him mouth, he realized that, in all the possible ways to die, this was one of the ways he couldn't complain about.

He wasn't being tortured.

He didn't have to watch everyone die around him.

He was numb. Cold numb, breathing slow and steady. And, as that cold mouth sealed his, an icy mist seeped from the dementor and slid down his throat. It spread into his lunges as it traveled to his chest, and it followed the maze of veins, muscle, and bone throughout his body. He felt something in him shift, flowing, warm, through his body. It followed the path the mist came through, traveling _up _through those muscles, veins, and bone into his chest, lunges, and throat. As his body splintered, like a web of silk woven by spiders, he could hear people screaming in the backdrop.

A spell, pure and radiance in its white brilliance, came rushing forward. The dementor slipped its mask into place, gliding into the air and away from the spell, and the others, as if pulled by some kind invisible string, rose to follow. Someone lifted his shoulders and head up, a wizened face with wild white hair and twinkling blue eyes. Blue eyes tearing up, leaking to leave trails upon tanned, aged skin. A sturdy hand pressed against his pulse, and he saw dark, obsidian eyes staring down at him in shock.

"Potter, damn you." Snape's voice was rough, as if he was having trouble speaking. "You can't die after you _deflected the Killing Curse!"_

Yet, as they spoke, darkness crept closer. Then it swallowed him whole, and his body shattered in a sea of glimmering shards of light.

* * *

The storm howled above, and the moon was blood, blood red.

Spells flew, too many to count. People screamed, running, as the temple glowed. The bells rung, deep and ominous, as green light danced through the air. Pain surged through his body as the concept of time and space slammed shut around him, as if attempting to _crush _him to nothingness, as the ritual circle glowed a vibrant emerald green. Images danced through his mind, countless, as he heard someone yelling to begin preparation for the transfer.

_Transfer? _

The world around him, the panic, was familiar. Hadn't be just been in the middle of a chaotic event? Yet the stone ceiling above him wasn't. But it was. Someone was grabbing his wrist, hauling him into a sitting position, and drawing him to his feet. A stabbing pain radiated through him, as if something tried to dislodge his insides and failed to do so. He found himself unable to voice the pain as the sensation of being pulled through a straw swallowed him. He could hear someone yelling out in outrage as they vanished, and Hadrian, unable to focus, or even stand on his own, hit the ground hard.

Damp grass cushioned his fall, but it did not keep him from rolling. He could hear others screaming in shock, and a hoof slammed into the grown next to his head. The near death experience had Hadrian scrambling away as the hippogriff, rearing on its hind legs, came crashing down, hooves first, with an angry screech. Behind the angry creature, perched upon a hill, was the towering form of Hogwarts. The sight of it had his arms crumbling under him in disbelief, and the hippogriff, closing in, slowed with a curious tilt of its head.

It snapped at the professor who neared them, snorting with warning, as someone else carefully helped him to his feet. As he sagged into the warmth, a welcome relief from the cold and chaos and confusion, he watched the hippogriff stamp its hoof on the ground in obvious dislike for the stranger's actions. And, as he turned around, slowly and with obvious care, he was surprised to come face-to-face with a very familiar teenager with blue-violet eyes_._

_"T-T-Tom?!" _Those eyes snapped to his, narrowing the tiniest fraction, and those fingers, wrapped around his hipbone, dug in painfully as he promptly jerked backwards.

"Eloise!"

He didn't know _who _was yelling, but a sense of complete dislike raged in him at the sudden, and unexpected intimate familiarity, with the name cast into the wind. It resonated in him, as if it was _his _name, and Hadrian wanted to stamp down the sensation as another part of him _purred _at it. Purred! And, as his eyes focused on the blue-violet of one Tom Riddle, Hadrian, who was inwardly infuriated to the very core at the reaction, fainted in the arms of a young Voldemort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note**

I have a few replies, and, I must say, they make me happy. I'm afraid that this chapter is...massive. I didn't intend for it to be so, but that's how it turned out. Without the notes up here, it's roughly _3000 _words long. Not too much happens, sadly, but I hope the chapter is entertaining nonetheless. As this is only the second installment, I hope it sets up the mood for the story a little more than the first one did, but things are still developing. So enjoy, relax, read, no flamming please (because that doesn't really help improve anything), and I hope everyone gets a few laughs out of this.

I also realize I didn't state that I don't own this in any way, shape, or form in the last chapter. So here it is: I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I make money off of it. Not being repeated, just so you all know. Only needs to be said once, really, because it is _obvious._

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: T

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He was going to _kill _Dudley.

Hadrian groaned as he shifted upon the bed, sheets shifting under him as he moved, and found that he still felt like his insides were being crushed. If it wasn't for the blindfold, he would have glared at the people talking around him. Yet, as he propped himself up on his elbow, shivering from the cold, he could only curse his stupid, walrus-like cousin who ran, headfirst, into a dementor's welcoming arms_. _The _idiot_.

"You're awake," He jerked his head to the side, blinking against the darkness. The cloth hiding his vision was soft against his skin, and he idly wondered _why _he was being blindfolded. Though he realized it was rather _obvious _that he was awake given the fact he was sitting up, but he kept the remark at bay. The speaker was familiar, though he couldn't place a name to the vocals. "We were beginning to think we would have to take drastic measures. We are most lucky to have Jool overseeing the infirmary this year. Most lucky indeed."

"Eloise?" That _name! _Hadrian's head whipped to the side, and then he felt a hand gently pull the blindfold away. Intent brown eyes stared into his, gazes locked, and a sense of...recognition curled in his stomach. The _name_, it was the _name, _that drove him insane. As he sat to his full height, those brown eyes softened in their appraisal, a gentle warmth filling them as the owner murmured, "Green as magicked emeralds. A beautiful color. Earth, perhaps."

"What?" Confusion roared within him. This conversation, it was running laps around him. Like a puzzle missing a piece, he found he could not put it together. Not that he liked puzzles all that much, but they were better than nothing. The brown-eyed stranger sat, and an aged hand took his. The person, a woman he realized, smiled sadly as she murmured, "The confusion is expected. We all thought you would favor water. Or even air. Earth, though...regardless. The confusion will pass. All that matters is that you are safe, away from those fiends."

_What?! _Hadrian mutely nodded, mind skipping and tumbling as another person, a man in a white robe, swept across the room. In their direction. And Hadrian realized, with sudden discomfort, that those eyes, multicolored and cold, were focused on him. Even before he could open his mouth, the wand was out and spells were whirling around him. The touch was invasive, the scans leaving nothing untouched. After several long minutes, the man's gaze hardened. _Oh sweet Merlin! It's a male Pomfrey! _

The thought made him shudder. The man spoke seconds after. "He'll heal. His core has suffered some minor trauma, and will take time to recover. He is also showing signs of sleep deprivation, and is also underweight. Not at all surprising, given your...previous location. That he would be in such a shape is to be expected."

_Hell, he's worse than Pomfrey. This dude's an arse! _Apparently the people who were with him, whoever they were, thought along the same lines. The woman's eyes had narrowed, and, despite being bloodstained and dirty, Hadrian felt her magic rise. It lifted, slowly, as if waiting for permission to lunge at the healer standing in front of them. Yet, when the woman spoke, her voice was civil and undeniably calm. "I can understand that, with your limited knowledge of events prior to our arrival, that you would chalk this up to our way of living. Be thankful I am more forgiving that Eloise. Had he been in his right frame of mind..."

She didn't finish her sentence. The cold glint in her eyes spoke far more than anything she could have said.

_Who the bloody hell is Eloise!? _Hadrian looked between the two, and, as the woman turned to him, her voice was soft as she murmured, "Do ignore him, Jarl. Despite his words, he is correct. You must rest."

Hadrian was confused. Eloise? Jarl? Jool? What in the name of _Merlin _was going on? And where the hell was he?

As if reading his mind, the door to the left swung open, and, as he redirected his gaze, he realized why his surroundings were giving him such a sensation of having been there before. Many times, at that. Because he _had _been there before, more times than he cared to count. Hospital Wing. Hogwarts. And, as he sat there, uncomprehending to the entire situation, as the small pieces of the puzzle locked into place, he realized fate hated him.

It hadn't been a dream.

He was _so _screwed.

His gaze shifted to the others in the room. A nurse stood off to the side, a clipboard in hand. A man sat on a chair next to the bed, slumped back in the seat with bandages wrapped around his shoulder. He idly questioned the lack of magick in healing that as his gaze shifted to the one familiar form in the room. Even if the hair was a flaming red, instead of the trademark white, he could never mistake those twinkling blue eyes. Nor could he ever misplace the terrifying clash his hair made with the purple and orange robes that draped the wizard's form. The hem was alive with live, flying bumblebees. How in the world did the man keep them from flying _away?_

Albus Dumbledore. He could recall the elderly man holding him minutes prior, cradling him as a...coldness...filled his body. As the warmth, and the life, rushed from him. He remembered Snape's eyes, and the harsh words about him not allowed to die. The light. The darkness of night. Magick. The pure blinding magic of a patronus dancing through the sky, of countless others smashing into a barrier...and the silvery-grey dementor, and it's hauntingly _human _features.

It had kissed him. Literally. He shuddered at the memory, of that cold mouth pressed against his. Just _thinking _about it made his body tremble with phantom remembrance of the icy mist that had swept out of that thing's body and seeped into his. With a rush of motion, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and made to stand. At the same instance, others scrambled to their feet, hands reaching, and he knocked them away with a scowl.

"Where am I?"

_What kind of trickery is this!? _His mind corrected.

He jerked to a stop at the sound of his own voice. It was far lighter than before. The vocals softer, almost..._musical. _Not in a way a woman sometimes sounded, but in a light and enchanted way that bespoke of ancient forests and untamed magic. It wasn't _his _voice. And that thought scared him more than the thought of having _really _seen Tom Riddle face-to-face. In flesh and blood. Before getting attacked by an infuriated hippogriff.

He whirled around, brushing past two people, and grasped the water basin next to his bed. Green irises glowed, unnaturally bright, from the depth of the water. Black hair framed a thin face. Green eyes. Black hair. That was _natural, _but the person he was staring at _wasn'__t_. He couldn't explain it, not in a way that would make sense to anyone. Let alone himself. But he knew that, despite being _himself, _that his reflection was anything _but _himself.

Had he been anyone else, he would have screamed bloody murder.

Instead, he staggered backwards, away from the water basin, and turned on the soles of his feet. Not his heels. The movement was sharp, and long, wild and untamed, black hair whirled around him. He promptly ignored that. He _didn't _have long hair. He was dreaming. He had to be. Either that, or he was dead. _But dead people don't wake up in someone _else's _body! _As far as he knew, anyway. They never mentioned what happens after death.

Did magical beings have a different afterlife than muggles and their various religions? He wasn't sure.

"Eloise?!" He kicked open the doors of the infirmary, and the students passing in the hall stumbled away in shock as he swept past them. Behind him, he heard the woman hissing, "I _told _you he wouldn't take it well once you told him he was at Hogwarts! You _know _how he feels about magical institutions! You know! And yet you _still _told him, you daft ass!"

"Eloise, my boy?" Dumbledore's words reached him seconds before worn hands grasped his forearms. He was forced to a halt in the middle of the hallway, and Hadrian, mentally screaming at the name they kept calling him, whirled around. The grip on his arms vanished, and his gaze snapped to the man in front of him. The headmaster, or professor, as he was now, was ready to speak as Hadrian snapped, "How did I get here? What happened?"

"My...boy?" Hadrian growled, brows furrowing into an angry stare. Behind the elderly professor, the woman said, "Do you not remember the attack? We barely escaped, as it is! I know you are upset, Eloise..."

_"Jarl _Eloise, Erma." The man corrected, still unnamed. Hadrian felt his confusion mount, and whirled around to find several students in the hallway. The man continued, as if the correction wasn't made, "As it is, this is the safest place. Until we can recover, we need a haven to rest at. You, Jarl, will attend this school. And I am not taking no for an answer on this matter. Your father was very strict on this matter."

Jarl. Eloise. Erma. Unnamed man. Dumbledore. Really creepy Infirmary overseer named Jool. Nurse.

They were _all _following. Each. And. Every. One. Of. Them. It felt like first year all over again. Everyone stared. He was some famous person, and everyone wanted to see him. To stare at him. He was simply glad they weren't _questioning _him. Though he knew that was only a matter of time. He knew it. And Dumledore, and Unnamed Man, thought his anger was directed at having to stay at _Hogwarts? _Were they _blind?_

Merlin, he was so _confused!_

* * *

Albus followed after the teenaged boy, a sense of concern filling him as the lithe form paced from one corner of the room to the other. Jarl Eloise, despite being so young, was already formidable. Erma and Garth both deferred to him, easily following his lead despite being the boy's senior, and he idly wondered how this entire thing would play out. Though he knew he would have to talk to Jool about antagonizing the nomads.

The boy stopped mid-motion, a frown on his face, before he shook his head, turned on his heel, and resumed pacing in a different direction. The Jarl looked so confused, his green eyes a storm of confusion and unbridled anger. He thought he detected a trace of fear there, whirling between the emotions. Green eyes. Earth. For someone favoring _earth, _the boy had the temper of slumbering inferno. Erma sat beside him, and, while her gaze was focused on the boy, Albus saw the concern.

"Sort me?" Eloise asked, green eyes settling on him. Albus nodded, and, after a moment, said, "Given this is your first time here, you'll have to be Sorted into one of the four Houses of Hogwarts so the school will know _where _to put your bed."

The boy blinked. A thoughtful look entered those green eyes. "Well, that shouldn't be hard. Can we get on with it?"

A question? Similar shades of confusion came from Garth and Erma. Albus idly picked up the Sorting Hat, handling the ancient artifact with care, and, after urging the young lad to sit, settled the hat upon impossibly wild black hair. And, as he sat back on his seat, Dumbledore was surprised that the Sorting Hat, often quick to throw a student in a House after a glimpse in their mind, was eerily silent.

* * *

_'I'm not suicidal, boy.' _

Hadrian inwardly snorted at the comment. He turned his own thoughts towards the hat. He was in Gryffindor once already, so it would only be _natural _if the Sorting Hat just went ahead and dropped him off in his House. However, this apparently was creating quite a fuss within the tattered and aged clothing article, and, if a hat could huff, it did as it said, _'Salazar will have my stitches if I let you waltz away from his House a second time, Potter. Or is it Jarl? Jarl-Potter, perhaps? Has a nice ring, that.'_

He sighed. Why was the elderly insane? Or scrambled, as the Sorting Hat seemed to be. The Hat took offense to that moments after, and, as it riffled through his mind, Hadrian snapped, _'Well, where do you _plan _on putting me, Hat?_'

_'Where I originally _intended _to put you before you slipped between my folds like the snake you can be. And don't you dare try to refuse the truth, Jarl-Potter. I have access to all of your memories.' _Hadrian wanted to throw the offending article into the hearth just to watch it burn. Didn't he have problems enough with people after him? And putting him in _Slytherin? _With _Tom? _He knew the teenager was there. The Hat confirmed it, really, when it gleefully laughed at the irony of having fallen into his enemy's younger self's arms. Literally. _'And Slytherin is ideal for you. Given this unexplained turn of events, sticking you anywhere _else _will end up with dead students.'_

He wasn't going to kill anybody! The very thought was preposterous. Why would he even _want _to kill anybody? It didn't make any sense.

_None of this makes any bloody sense!_

The Sorting Hat laughed. Inside his head and aloud. Hadrian mentally flipped the hat the bird, and was rewarded with more of his memories surfacing to the front of his mind. The last thing he could recall, could see, clearly was his cousin screaming in a dementor's face. Loudly. Like an idiot who didn't know the difference between fleeing and standing still. No self-preservation, there. And Hadrian mentally slapped himself for the thought.

_'See? Slytherin!' _Hadrian mentally shoved the hat, and yanked a memory to the forefront. Eleven years old and fighting a troll. He tossed a sharp, pleased _'Bravery' _at the hat at that one, and it snorted. It responded with countless memories of him sneaking through Hogwarts with the Invisibility Cloak, and sang with happiness as he was forced to give that point to the Hat. Hadrian didn't even have time to draw another memory forth when the Hat hollered, _"Slytherin! You are a Slytherin!"_

He yanked the Hat off, and glared at the smug smile on it. Across from him, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I take it that you and the Sorting Hat had quite a debate on where you should be placed..."

"That's putting it lightly." Hadrian replied as he handed him the hat, and Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts, looked between him and the Hat. He then let out a laugh before he said, "It's not every day we find someone who can argue with the Sorting Hat for near an hour, Jarl."

He didn't even know when the Headmaster entered the room, but he figured it was somewhere within the first twenty minutes the two had begun fighting. Dumbledore gently rested the hat in the box he carried it in, and, as Hadrian slumped into a seat, the two resumed their staring contest. Already dressed in the school uniform, long pants and a button-down shirt, cloak tossed over it, he regarded the people in the room in silence.

Dippet, Merlin damn him, turned his bad mood sour when he said, "Well, now that this is all Sorted, I'll get the Head Boy to show you to your House. Tom's a Slytherin, at that, so he won't be going out of his way to show you around -"

There was a knock on the door, and Jool, a scowl in place, opened the door. Tom Riddle swept in, nothing out of place, and those eyes, a blue-violet, a smoky violet, swept across the people in the room before turning to the Headmaster. His tone was calm, precise, as he asked, "You summoned me, sir?"

"That I did, Tom." Dippet, Armando Dippet, gestured to him, and Hadrian clenched his teeth as the man said, "This is Jarl Eloise, a new student to Hogwarts. I was hoping you would have the time to show him around before taking him to Slytherin."

"Not at all, sir." Tom turned to him, a friendly smile curling his lips. The Head Boy offered his hand, and Hadrian, teeth clenched, clasped his hand. The other's grip tightened fractionally, but Tom Riddle spoke with polite calm. "It's a pleasure, Jarl. If you'll come with me?"

Hadrian knew he had no choice in the matter, and gave the other a sharp nod.

Resigned, he followed the other out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Note**

I must admit that the first two chapters are _highly _confusing. Hopefully this chapter allows the rest of you to settle more into the story.

_Okay,_ so this is _still _confusing. However, it is only beginning, and, hopefully, in the oncoming chapters, the confusion will shift. Not _too _much happens, and it might be a bit slow. However, I've redone this chapter several times over, and this is the final product. The story is slow going, as of now, due to the fact that getting it up and running isn't the easiest of things to accomplish._  
_

But I hope everyone likes this chapter. And I look forward to the reviews_._

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: T

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Calculations. They were something that came naturally to him.

Possibilities, theories and conclusions, whirled through Tom's mind as he guided the newest addition to his House away from the Headmaster and Albus. Away from that room in some remote location in his school. Jarl Eloise. Jarl. Tom turned the name over in his mind, the way the Headmaster had _said _the name, and deleted the thought. It was a title. To what, exactly? His gaze shifted to the smaller boy, and took in details. Long hair. Wild. Narrowed eyes.

_Jarl _Eloise?

_Lord _Slytherin?

He felt his brow crease, and turned his mind to the boy's companions. The way they had watched him. He had not missed how the larger man, armed with blades, had rested his hand upon his blade when Jarl Eloise showed signs of discontent. The way the woman's hawk-eyes narrowed, inspecting him, and likely making their judgement, within moments of setting her gaze upon him. Jarl. Not a name, then, but a tag.

Jarl. A term which indicates higher ranking.

A boy who obviously did not like him.

Tom could still remember the sound of his name on the younger's lips before fainting on him. The way those eyes had widened, the sheer disbelief that raged in them. He could still feel the way the Jarl's muscles tensed before the small boy tried to propel himself out of his grip. The boy knew him, somehow, and there was a contrast of surprise, hatred, and fear in his energy. A rather odd combination, but one he had seen on a few accounts. Rarely where they from someone he did not know.

Fascinating.

"Where exactly do you come from, Jarl?" Tom questioned, and took in the narrowing eyes. Distrust. An unwillingness to converse. A product of his upbringing, perhaps. The boy has several injuries. Conflicts. Perhaps a battle. Inspired general mistrust from the younger. There had been a sense of unease, of tension, in the room when he had arrived. Mistrust was a plausible fact. An insight easily viewed.

This Jarl, a foreigner in all concepts of the definition, was silent for several minutes, but the younger finally relented. "Far away. You wouldn't know the place."

Tom arched a dark eyebrow. "Really? Perhaps I've heard of it."

Emerald-green diverted attention. Absently runs hand through hair. Nervous tendencies. A self-conscious gesture. Hiding? Tom regarded the boy next to him as they slipped past the entrance to the Great Hall, and ventured underground. Other oddities showed. Despite being new to the school, the boy wasn't so much _following _him as he was _walking _next to him. Previous knowledge of Hogwarts's layout? Unlikely, but possible.

"Perhaps you have." Eloise finally said, but offered no more than that. Tom slowed as they neared the entrance to the Dungeons, and, with some careful consideration, finally said, "Jarl, _Eloise, _I realize your situation is frustrating, that it leaves you with a less trusting nature, but we are going to be in the same House. As your Head Boy, it is my duty to ensure a smooth transition into our school and the life you'll be living here."

Eloise stopped, and Tom turned to face the younger boy. Electric, killer green eyes focused on him. Smoky violet against deadly green.

"Perhaps you just refuse to see the fact I have no desire to_ transition _into your House." Eloise's voice was soft, harsh, and Tom blinked. The boy, his gaze was cutting. Sharp and angry. Hateful. Tom stepped closer, and regarded the boy with a vague sense of interest. A soft smile curled at his lips, and his magic curled outwards, stirring their clothing and hair, as he responded, his voice a soft murmur, "I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter, _Jarl. _Hogwarts has its own structure, and those who try to override it tend to end up in undesirable places. It would be unfortunate to make enemies before your first day."

Their gazes clashed.

Eloise smiled. "Is that a threat, Riddle?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "A threat? No, I think not. Consider it a friendly _warning."_

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Tom Riddle was a relentless bastard.

Hadrian followed him deep into the school, and, when he realized he was walking _next _to him, absently traveling the school from memory, he cursed himself. Locked in a stare-down with the older boy was unnerving, and Riddle's words rang in his mind. A _warning. _He wanted to blast that self-assured energy off the other, and stamp it down in a heated blast of rage. But he couldn't.

He didn't know who he himself was. Hadrian knew his own name, but that didn't stop the internal shiver the name _Jarl _Eloise brought every time he heard the name. And he _hated _it. It wasn't _his _name. Hadrian knew his own name, and _Eloise _was not it. It was _Hadrian Potter, _not whatever voodoo that grey-robed dementor shoved down his throat before all of _this _happened. Dudley was going to _die_.

He drew in a deep breath, and schooled his expression. "A warning, is it? Fine. Though I do recall the _Headmaster _stating that you are supposed to be taking me to Slytherin. Not detaining in the hallway and issuing _warning. _As if you really thought I'd fall under your _charms."_

Smoky violet eyes gleamed, flashing with power, and he mentally face-palmed. Foot-in-Mouth. _Now_.

"Charms, Eloise?" An innocent smile. Eyes cold and hard as iced diamonds. "Surely you're not _insinuating _something? Surely not."

"Surely not." Hadrian echoed, and made a gesture to the hall around them. Riddle narrowed those eyes of his, but said nothing, only gave a soft smile, as Hadrian said, "Now, if you don't mind, Riddle, I'd like to know where I'll be sleeping. These last couple of hours have been _infernal, _and a few hours of rest would be _appreciated."_

_The further I'm away from you, the better. Damn bloody bastard._

Riddle didn't offer any comments, but silently guided him to the entrance to the Common Rooms. He paused spoke as his magic flamed around him. "Unlike the other Houses, we don't use passwords. That would allow anyone in if they knew it. Slytherin knows which students belong to it, and our magic is what gives us entry."

Hadrian watched as the wall shimmered, like a veil of water rippling, and then vanished altogether. Riddle turned to face him, and added, "Only those with our permission are allowed entrance, outside of the staff and Headmaster. Caution is a trait that keeps one alive, is it not?"

"Paranoia can also get your throat slit." Hadrian remarked, and, as he brushed past the older, he felt a grin work its way onto his face. He cast a look over his shoulder as he added, "It is not all that uncommon for your distrust to be focused on the _wrong _person, Riddle."

He slipped past the Head Boy, and made his way into the common room. He halted at the threshold, taking note of the countless eyes that swung towards him, and scowled. Great. _More _staring. Heat enveloped him from behind, and he heard Riddle introducing him to the rest of the House. He didn't pay mind to the words in favor of marking the stock he was forced into. He recognized Malfoy and Black within seconds of seeing them, one looking like an older and far more mature Draco and the other bearing resemblance to Sirius so much it _hurt. _He was certain the dark-skinned teen sitting on the couch against the wall was a Zabini, but those eyes were both dark and cutting.

A bit _too _observant. Almost as bad as Riddle's. Almost.

A hand brushed his shoulder, and his gaze jerked back to Riddle. The older boy was watching him, one eyebrow arched, and then the bastard had the thought to gesture to the hall. "I do believe you mentioned you would like to rest?"

Hadrian offered a tight smile.

He was going to kill Dudley.

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"Are you certain?"

Erma paced the room, the question echoing in her mind. It was almost like it hadn't slipped off her tongue. Garth, ever close, was frowning. His eyes, the clearest of blues, followed her path. Albus sat off to the side, hands folded in his lap, but said nothing. She was fairly certain not even _he _was fully aware of the direction of their, hers and Cairo's, conversation.

The second had only arrived.

"I'm certain. He had showed clear signs of being attuned to fire, but earth is his element." There was also the matter of the green light that had hit the Jarl before they escaped. A spell which killed, she recalled. Cairo merely hummed, the sound carrying, before the young woman murmured, "If what you have showed me is correct...then we have a problem. A large one."

A large problem indeed.

"Perhaps it is a sign." Garth's deep rumble startled her out of her thoughts, and her gaze shifted to the warrior as he continued, "Death has fallen thrice on his family before him. Is it not a sign that Death now seeks him?"

She hadn't thought of that. She paused in mid-step, and let the thought settle. Possible? Perhaps.

Yet what it would mean, not only for the Jarl, for _Eloise, _but for everyone he came in contact with...her eyes closed.

Her mind jumped to her mentor. And the words, a promise filled with ancient magic, came to mind: "_Misfortune follows a king crowned by Death."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note**

Hello, all who are reading this. Another update is up and about. Several different areas in this made me laugh. The funny thing about Lions and Snakes? One digs a whole, and falls in it in broad daylight. The other hides it, and watches, laughing, when someone unwittingly stumbles into it. Anyway, I updated early on this, but that's due to the fact that this entire chapter played in my head, and I had to get it out before I lost it.

Not to mention that it makes me laugh. Hysterically. In some areas, anyway.

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: T

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Hogwarts was Hogwarts without being Hogwarts.

Hadrian rose early, sick to his stomach with images of Cedric and green light, and Voldemort's cold order to _kill the spare_. It had not been all _that _long since his friend's life was taken. They had faced dragons, mermaids, and that demented maze together only for one to die at the end. Green light. It still flashed in his mind's eye, vividly bright as the same spell Voldemort had fired upon his mother in the earliest years of his existence. He could almost _smell _the floral fragrance of his mother's, of _Lily's, _hair. The memories repressed, trauma filled nightmares forgotten to the harsh three AM beatings, rose, like mist dancing off the surface of a lake in the earliest hours of morning, until they were crystal clear. He still couldn't remember his father. James.

_'This turn of events...' _Hadrian whipped around, a sharp retort on his tongue for the Slytherin that came in soundlessly, and found only the empty air of the bathroom. He blinked. His gaze shifted from one side of the massive bathroom, the tiled floor warm with enchantments, but there was no other student in the room with him. Exhaustion. He was hearing voices because of exhaustion. He remembered Hermione telling him how the mind played tricks when placed under a great deal of stress. Did this situation count? He was certain that it did. But did it? He massaged his brow, and stiffened when the voice murmured, _'Quite a problem, this is. For us both.'_

"I'm tired; _not_ going crazy." Hadrian whirled back around, and ran his hand through his hair. The wavy length flowed between his fingers. He debated cutting it, but declined. He still didn't know the situation. No hasty actions. No more 'foot-in-mouth' slips. Did exhaustion equate hallucinations? Where was Hermione and Ron when he needed them?

He gathered his belongings, and shrugged on the uniform. The material was _softer _than he recalled. Warmer. Perhaps because the dungeons were cold, the students had to have warmer clothing. Serpents, the cold-blooded kind and not the students, liked warmth. He often found small snakes sunbathing in Aunt Petunia's garden. Enlightening conversation, that. Preferable to Dudley. _Any_thing was preferable to his cousin. Even Voldemort, and the nightmares induced by him. Green light. _Kill the spare..._

"Stop thinking." He murmured to himself as he escaped into Slytherin. Several students were already in the common room. He was sure _that _boy was related to Snape in some way. Same completion and dark eyes. A rather disconnecting revelation; all of this was. And Dumbledore had _red _hair. Wasn't it supposed to have signs of _grey _in it? What _year _was this anyway?

Too many questions. Hadrian sank into a seat by the fireplace, and dropped his head against the back of the seat. Students were staring again, and this time the sensation was different. Did these snakes have assigned seats or something? His eyes closed, the heat of the fire, the warmth, sinking into his flesh, as he felt himself relaxing. Why was it so _cold _down here?

His eyes slowly opened. He blinked. Standing directly in front of him was Riddle, and the older boy did not look pleased. His expression was soft, _inviting, _but those eyes were hard. Dark. And, behind him, was several miniature Death Eaters. Malfoy and Black, at the forefront, and Snape's lookalike, alongside several others he didn't know, or even recognize, stood with him. Several looked amused, such as Black and one of the boys he didn't have a name, first or last, while the others were a cross of indifferent and glaring.

"You're in my seat." Riddle commented, and Hadrian found himself blinking owlishly at the older boy.

Oh.

_Oh. _

Well, this was awkward. Hadrian, feeling the Lion shaking itself off inside of him, reclined back, and grinned. "Really? I didn't see your name."

A wand was in his face, from one of the others, but Riddle laid a hand on the boy's wrist with a soft smile. Magic curled around them, and the rest of the House, stilled and watching, observed. Even the students coming down from their rooms halted on the stairs, gazes intent. His gaze shifted back to Riddle as the boy said, "It's something established from day one, Jarl. With you being new here, I can understand the confusion."

Hadrian's fingers itched. The subtle warmth, the heat and blazing warmth, grew. It crawled across his skin. It surged through his veins. It was almost like the warmth grew with his ire, and it grew as he relaxed fully into the seat, his attention focused solely on the older boy, as he replied, "There's no confusion, Riddle. Routines are meant to be broken, so I'll sit where I damn well please."

The echo of a pen dropped on the floor rang through the silence.

"I see." Riddle's voice was schooled, his expression unyielding. His magic was taunt, sharp and focused on him. Inwardly, Hadrian could admit the elder was unnerving to be around. He was different than he remembered. The cold calculations were still there, yes, but the memory of the journal, compared to the slightly older boy in front of him, were two _different _people. The charm was there. The careful calculations. Yet _something _was different. He couldn't place his finger on it, and, with Riddle staring him down, he realized the Head Boy had said something.

Hadrian sighed. "Oh, very well. If you really want the seat _that _bad, you can have it. Not warm enough for my tastes, anyway."

He rose, and found himself nose-to-nose with Riddle. The elder hadn't moved from his spot, having been standing over him seconds ago, and he locked eyes with the elegant male. A snake in a man's skin. Slytherin's Heir, in every sense of the title. Brushing his hair out of his face, he let his gaze roam over the room, and asked, "So, where does one get something to eat around here?"

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He couldn't recall the last time he was so thoroughly tempted to curse someone.

Tom, surrounded by his comrades and fellow students, swept down the hall, the Jarl in tow, and fought the urge to bring the green-eyed snake to the ground. Screaming. Muted on his own cries of pain. The very thought sent a shiver of longing down his spine, but he ignored it in favor of was a number of questions whirling through his mind, each unanswered but saddled with possible hints that would detect truth from lie.

How Jarl Eloise knew his name was at the forefront. How he knew he wore a mask was second. Charms.

Jarl Eloise was bold. Daring. There was a Lion inside that boy, but the sharp answers of a true Serpent lingered. Hidden. Waiting to strike.

Ezra and Abraxas walked at his sides, and Alphard was trying to encourage the Jarl into a conversation. The twins, walking behind him, were silent. Their elder, in Tom's year, was scowling. Heavily. Anger boiled under his skin. Had he not interfered, Lestrange would have hexed the Jarl. Even now, even as Alphard slowly urged the youngest member of the group into talking, magic curled around the cross Slytherin.

"Where's Orion?" Alphard's question carried over them. "Why would I know where he's at? I'm not his caretaker."

Orion Black. Several years below them, that boy.

"Aren't you _older _than Riddle?" The Jarl's question drew his attention, and he heard the awkward laugh the older boy issued. "Well, yes, I am. Is there a reason why you...ask?"

"I find it odd that, being a year older, that you're still here."

"Still here?" They entered the Great Hall, and the Jarl made himself comfortable at the table. Those green eyes were focused, intently, on Alphard as the eldest Black said, brow creased, "It's only natural that I'm still here. Most of the students tend to stay longer periods of time if they show a greater aptitude for magic. I take it that...your methods of learning are not the...same."

Tom, plate filled with an assortment of light foods, caught the slight adjustment to the Jarl's posture. A light frown. Brow creasing. The temptation to curse the boy was still there, but a sense of curiosity rose. Eloise was quiet for a few minutes, but when he spoke, his words were chosen with obvious care. His posture was drawing his form inwards, almost _defensively, _as he said, "The...way I am taught...is difficult to explain."

"Enlighten us." Tom urged him, and the younger shot him a dark look.

"I'd rather not stunt your intellectual growth." Grey-violet eyes narrowed, and Tom sat his knife down. "Again with the verbal attacks, Jarl. Quite-"

_"There _you are!" A woman swept up to the table, and in a matter of moments, the conversation was switched into a tongue he didn't know. It was rather one-sided given Eloise was merely staring at the woman with something akin to growing _horror _on his face. Not to mention confusion. The rest of those around him were staring, some with some rather obvious alarm on their faces, before Jarl Eloise rose from his seat and swept out of the hall with the woman on his heels. As they vanished around the bend, he could still hear her sharp comments.

It took him a moment to realize the Jarl took his plate, and the food on it, with him.

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Erma and Cairo were women not to mess with.

It was a startling revelation, Hadrian mused, as he watched the two of them trade remarks in a language he knew he shouldn't be able to understand. Yet he did. This entire situation was getting rather absurd. He didn't miss the looks Cairo kept throwing at him. The curious gleam. A certain something, be it apprehension or excitement, he did not know which, lingered in the air. Tangible.

"...they have moved locations." Cairo was saying, and Erma frowned. Dumbledore, already present in the room with Jool at his side, were both frowning. Hadrian wasn't sure why the doctor was in the room, but Dumbledore? Dumbledore was tied into everything in some way. He felt his confusion build, with a sense of suspicion, when Erma said, "The dementors are leaving their homeland? The attack at the Hollow? If they _are _connected, and I'm not saying they with our limited knowledge, then, yes, the situation is worse than we thought."

"There wasn't a grey one, was there?" Hadrian questioned, and felt his eyes narrow at the quick look Cairo shot at him. Erma looked distinctively uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other every few moments, and Garth, the silent shadow blending in the corner of the room, tightened his grip on his blade. Eyes narrowing, Hadrian asked again, "Was there a grey dementor?"

_If there was, Merlin help me. _He let his gaze shift between the people in the room, the shifts between the different tongues confusing. Even he himself shifted between the two in a way that reminded him of Parseltongue. There was no control over it. It came out as it came out, but he knew, from the slight from on Dumbledore's face, that his question had been in English.

"Now is not the time to talk about him, Eloise." Erma finally murmured, her expression pained. Hadrian's eyes narrowed. She grasped his forearm in her hand, squeezing, as she continued, "The other clans are rallying against us. Given the events during the Harrowing, and the dementors sudden shift in interests, in priorities, it is only natural that they...did what they did."

_That answered nothing. Absolutely nothing. _He was out of his depth. Too much was happening. Had happened.

He stepped away. "I need to think."

She nodded. Hadrian slipped out of the room, and nearly collided with another student as he made his way down the hall. When he realized who it was, the way those violet-grey eyes were focused on him, he was tempted to turn around and head back into the room. But there were too many questions. And, as he scowled, he realized that, once again, Riddle was invading his space.

"Are you _stalking _me?" The question came out before he could stop it, and Riddle arched a brow.

"If I am?"

"Then stop."

Riddle chuckled. The elder made a swift gesture to the hall, and Hadrian frowned. "How would I investigate my newest snake if I did?"

"You could bloody well start by acting like a normal person instead of being...well, _that_."

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Exactly." Hadrian slipped around Riddle, and felt the other follow after him. Several minutes passed in silence before he felt a hand clasp his wrist, and swing him around. His own came up, nails biting into smooth flesh, as Riddle said, "Come, now, Jarl. You're still new to the school. It would be unseemly of me to leave the newest snake to his own devices. Wouldn't want to get lost, now would we?"

_No. Lost would mean you wouldn't be able to Crucio me for my stunt earlier. _He opted to raise his eyebrows. "I'm sure I can retrace my steps back to the Great Hall, Riddle. The offer is appreciated, nonetheless."

"I _insist, _Jarl." Riddle was a relentless bastard. Hadrian shook his head, but fell in step with the older boy. He kept the distance, edging away when he got too close, and narrowed his eyes when Riddle shot him a curious look. "You're Head Boy, if I recall. Don't you have more important things to do? I'd _hate _to keep you."

"Nonsense." Riddle dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and that sharp gleam returned to those eyes. "Your concerns are misplaced. Trust me when I say _nothing_ keeps me from what I want, Jarl."

_Merlin, that sounds ominous. _

They reached the Great Hall in record time, and he was relieved to be surrounded by the rest of the Slytherins. And the rest of the school, at that. As he tried his food, edging away from the meats, he let himself slip into his own thoughts. Away from the noise. Away from the confusion of this timeline, and the unnerving differences in it. Instead, he found himself thinking of Hermione and Ron. Of Neville, and Remus, and Sirius.

Yet, as he sat there, surrounded by hundreds and feeling out of place, he couldn't shake one image from his mind. A dementor in grey donning a white mask.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Note**

Another chapter, at long last. Damn, I hate writer's block. Between work, the birth of my nephew, and school...finding time to write is hard enough. Breaking the block is harder. Hopefully this adds a few new questions to the mix, and...answers a few others. Hopefully. I tried to make it as long as I could without it dragging onward, so I do hope everyone likes this chapter.

I hope to hear from all of you. What you think. Possible thoughts on what's going on. Things you'd all like to see. People. If you'd like to throw a few names at me (for the students given many of them {in Tom's time} didn't have names listed), I'd appreciate it. Suggestions. Perhaps a few might spark some ideas. This is a WIP, though I do have a general plot worked out - just have to fill everything out first.

Read, Enjoy, and _Review!_

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**Rating**: T

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One week passed.

Much of everything that happened occurred in the same manner. Hadrian adjusted to the two names associated with him; one was his own name, Hadrian Potter, but the other was Jarl Eloise, which was the title and name of the body he was inhabiting. It was rather difficult to come to terms with, and, even though_ this _body, and his original one, shared some similarities...the differences were too great too overlook.

Tom Riddle continued to hound him, his inquiries curious but relentless. Almost innocent. Hadrian's own relentless drive to find answers, to understand, drove a wedge between him, Riddle, and the watchful Slytherins and it followed him deeper as he vanished into the darkest recesses of the library. That was were he sat. Surrounded by massive tomes, each filled with countless facts and dates delving deeper into a world he could barely understand, he found himself growing more and more uncomfortable.

The clash between _muggles _and magic was far greater, but also so divided, and so unknown, that the likelihood of _anyone _current remembering it was next to impossible. Arcadia, a name he still blinked at due to its connections to a town in the United States, somewhere in Missouri, he was certain, was the name of the Wizarding _World_. Not Magical Britain. _Arcadia. _He couldn't quite wrap his mind around that little fact.

And the muggle world was Stark. Technology driven, and completely ignorant of the existence of magic in its entirety.

The books around him shied away from much of what that world has gone through, be it current issues or the past.

He came to one chilling, horrifying conclusion. This world, this _era, _was not the past. It was not _his _world.

And he _hated _it.

Hadrian leaned away from the tables, a sickening twist nearly driving him away. He forced it down, and, breathing deep, stared at the diagrams and illustrations on the desk before him. His world went from a simple two-sided coin to a Compare-and-Contrast world. Instead of _one _world with two sides to it, he was locked in a world that had a polar opposite overlapping with it. Arcadia and Stark.

_Merlin, why can't things be simple once? _He closed the tomes, and stuffed them into his satchel. Like the very world he was tossed into, one he was slowly starting to get the barest of glimpses, of understanding, he found that his own situation was like the two worlds. Two bodies, similar in some ways, but _drastic _opposites. Aside from the black hair and the green eyes, they looked nothing alike. He and Eloise, they weren't anywhere, in any shape or form, close enough, in appearance, to be mistaken for _kin_.

They, his original body and this one, had several similarities. Black hair and green eyes. Yet even _those _similarities had their differences, and, even having glimpsed himself in the water in the infirmary upon his awakening that first day, he made a habit of avoiding reflective surfaces. Yet, even as he made his way through the hallways of Hogwarts, combing his fingers through the massive volume of his hair, he could spot the differences without a mirror. Without a reflective surface.

He could taste them when he ate. Everything was sharper, the flavors practically exploding on his tongue. The world around him was clear. His glasses were gone, but his sight was sharp and focused. Even the sounds around him, from the soft whisper of cloth against skin to the bellowing laughter of senior students, was pronounced. It was an alarming aspect of his unexpected trip into the warped past-alternate-world. And learning _anything _about what was going on around him was near impossible.

Too many things were different.

The books confused him. Some things were the same, such as Dumbledore's battle with the Dark Lord, the one _before _Voldemort. He was still undefeated, and very powerful. From what he could see, Riddle himself was a Dark Lord rising, and his own power, and influence, was spread throughout every nook and cranny of the school. And, if this Riddle followed the same quirks as the one he had met in his second year, he was certain that even the surrounding areas were drawn to the teen.

"There you are." Hadrian grit his teeth, and slowly turned to find Riddle, speak of evil and it shall come, striding towards him. Blue-violet eyes regarded him with interest, and the younger sighed. He adjusted his backpack, and resigned himself to the Head Boy's presence as Riddle stated, "You missed breakfast. And lunch. Not to mention you just missed dinner as well. So where have you been hiding, Jarl?"

"Somewhere quiet." Hadrian snapped, mood sour, and mentally grinned when he saw the ever-subtle narrowing of the elder boy's eyes. Riddle didn't miss a beat as he replied, "Library, then."

"If you knew, then why the hell did you ask?"

One sharp eyebrow arched, but Riddle answered nonetheless. "Because it's _polite, _Jarl. It's called manners, in case you're wondering. It seems to be something you sorely lack."

"And yet, for someone with manners, you seem to have an unhealthy habit of _stalking _me."

"It's only stalking if it is unwanted attention."

Hadrian grit his teeth, a growl halfway up his throat, and then he exhaled. They were half way across the entrance of the Great Hall when Riddle grabbed his forearm, and hauled him to a stop with a low, sharp question. "Where, exactly, do you think you're going?"

"I'm going outside."

"You skipped _every _meal today."

Hadrian drew in another breath, and slowly turned to face the other fully. Riddle's gaze was unreadable, but Hadrian had a sense, a _feeling, _that the other was _testing _him somehow. He met those eyes, always so intense in their study, and mentally wrestled how to handle this dance. Turning his hand, and curling his fingers around the thin wrist, he murmured as his nails bit into tender flesh, "As you so _kindly _pointed out, Riddle, dinner has already passed. Going into the Great Hall would be pointless."

"What were you researching?"

"None of your damn business."

Half a heartbeat passed when the air was forced out of his lunges, and his head snapped violently against the wall. Shadows swallowed them, and, when he shifted to better ground himself, he found his feet could not touch the ground. Lightning green eyes shot up, and his gaze clashed with violet-red. They were nearly nose-to-nose, and his one wrist was trapped to the wall next to his head while his other, clutching the hand around his throat, bit into the flesh.

Magic whirled around them. And Hadrian found himself locked in those eyes, seething with rage, as the elder trapped him in place.

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Ezra's gaze slowly shifted from his book to the students around him before moving to Dumbledore. Or, more accurately, the runes on the wall behind him, tuned to resemble a muggle clock, and the glowing symbols. He blinked, and shifted his gaze to Abraxas. The blond met his gaze, traces of a frown in place, and he knew, within seconds of meeting that gaze, that they both were following the same pattern of thoughts.

Tom was late.

Tom was _never _late.

"Mr. Prince," Ezra's gaze shifted back to his professor, and he met his instructor's gaze. Professor Dumbledore, even as one of the few teachers that wasn't fond of Slytherin and its students, was a man of practical thoughts. It was something Ezra was thankful for as he returned, "May I be excused, Professor?"

"Whatever for, my boy?"

"I'm worried about my friend." Ezra replied, and, books already packed, he stood as he added, "As you know, Tom isn't one to miss class."

Dumbledore, blinking, nodded slowly in understanding. Dislike of Slytherin or not, he was never one to begrudge a student their right to learn. "Do go and see where Mr. Riddle is at. Such a bright young man, that one. A missed class or two won't hurt, but I'd be at ease knowing something hasn't happened."

Ezra swept out of the classroom. He made his way through the hallways, mentally tallying every place he could think of as he went. He doubted he would be in Slytherin, given the other students in there. Setting a bad example wasn't something Tom did, Ezra mused. Every student must strive to be their best. So perhaps the library? Or the grounds near the Lake or Forbidden Forest?

It was unlikely that he would be inside.

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He had once stated he had never been the brightest of individuals.

It was common knowledge for people who knew him. Hadrian often counted it as a blessing. Explaining himself, when something bad, or illogical, happened was often a chore. Words were a bit overrated, in a sense. Too many words, too many expressions, for the _same _item. For the same feeling. Yet, the moment his magic roared out of him, a fiery inferno that blasted Riddle away from him, he rejoiced in to the fact that, while he _wasn't _the brightest person, he was, by no means, _stupid_. Or dense. Or _powerless._

He knew a bad situation when he saw one. And he knew how to get out of them.

Hadrian dunked, grinning as his magic whirled outwards, and dodged to the side as a sharp wave of power, raw and trained, replied with fervor. The dark-haired youth threw himself out of the way, yelping when stones rained down on him, and whirled around, tendrils of green light washing over the stones, moments before a thick root, wider around than either of their bodies, burst from the stone floor.

Hadrian skidded to a stop, mouth agape.

Ruptured floor. Hogwarts groaned underfoot, the very stones seemingly screaming as the root twisted out of the ground and spiraled upwards. The head, spun in the shape of a spike, collided into the ceiling and disappeared, tunneling deeper. Hadrian did not register moving, but, one moment he was standing, staring in disbelief, and the next he was sprawled across the ground with Riddle on top of him. Where he stood rested a pile of roots, the ceiling above weeping as slabs of rock continued to drop.

He could feel Riddle's breath fanning across his throat, followed by a sharp snort, and then he was peering up at violet-blue eyes as another person came into his vision. Riddle, sitting on his haunches, peered down at him, expression unreadable, as someone else came upon the scene. Voices blurred in and out, his ears ringing.

"...you okay?" It was Prince. Ezra, if he recalled. Malfoy was there as well, eyebrows arched, and, as he sat up, he noticed there were several Slytherins of note in the area. He could hear others yelling, and caught sight of Dumbledore's outrageous red hair and yellow robes. Riddle snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, and Hadrian blinked.

"That was idiotic." Was the first thing out of the elder's mouth, and Hadrian scowled. "Well, if you'd stop _stalking _me, then things like _that _wouldn't happen!"

"You're blaming this on _me?" _Riddle, still straddling his hips, knocked his head with his knuckles. "If you'd learn to control a surge of magic, then I wouldn't have to save your ass from a falling ceiling, Jarl."

"I..." Swallowing, Hadrian scowled. What had just happened? Accidental magic? He recalled Marge, and the surge of magic that resulted in her flying over the streets of Privet Drive. And the results of such a thing. Nearly kicked out of school. Was it a sign, then? An inability to control his own _magic? _The thought was a dark one. His skin crawled at the mere thought. "I don't know...I didn't mean...fuck, I'm sorry. I could have been..._you _could have been..."

They could have been crushed. Flat as a pancake.

"Sweet Merlin," Dumbledore was next to them, a gentle hand helping him sit up. His...companions, Erma and what's-his-face, standing in the background, their gazes grim. He looked away as his Head-his _professor _ran a careful hand down the side of his face. Tendrils of magic slipped under his skin as the man murmured, "Merlin, Jarl, that was dangerous. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Hadrian muttered, and winced as he shifted. Riddle, still perched on his lap, snorted. "Alright? You nearly dropped a ceiling on us."

"You are well, Tom? No injuries?"

"Nothing to be concerned over." Riddle replied easily, and then he was standing. Hadrian let the aspiring Dark Lord help him to his feet, and accepted the heard of snakes that surrounded them. Several were talking amongst themselves, but it was Prince and Malfoy who were attentive. Their gazes were unwavering, glancing between him and Riddle. "A little magic can mend almost anything, Professor. I'll take Jarl Eloise to our House. If you'll excuse us?"

"Of course." Professor Albus Dumbledore stepped aside, and, as Hadrian was swept away, the redheaded man's gaze lingered.


End file.
